At the End of the Tunnel
by Bjorn
Summary: Ranma x Sandman crossover. Ranma dies. Yes, that's the beginning of the story. Fortunately, his journey isn't finished yet, and he's got a guide to show him what's at the end of the tunnel. Feedback is always appreciated!
1. Death

Disclaimer: All characters and other thingies within belong to their respective creators. 

At the End of the Tunnel

Chapter 1 - Death

---

_In a way_, Ranma supposed, _it's actually pretty funny._ He'd once made it through arcane flames produced by a self-proclaimed phoenix god, and come through them relatively unscathed, albeit with the help of a magical artifact. Now it looked like he was going to be brought low by a common house fire.

His clothes were burnt almost to ashes, and the only thing that kept his skin and hair from sharing their unfortunate fate was the tightly gathered matrix of frosty blue ki that enveloped his body. It flickered fitfully, and an angry hiss sounded through the air every time a stray flame touched it. Ranma's breathing was labored, and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Carrying numerous unconscious children through a burning building and delivering them outside had taken its toll on the martial artist, Soul of Ice or not. Abruptly, he paused for a moment and looked around, his eyes unfocussed and glassy.

Ever since his battle against Saffron on Phoenix Mountain, Ranma had found himself able to vaguely sense the presence of people around him. A discreet talk with Cologne had revealed that he had been unconsciously blanketing the area around him lightly with ki, letting him 'see' his immediate surroundings - at least, living beings whose energy reacted to his own. It had come in handy more times than he cared to count, warning him in advance of any approaching fiancees or rivals, and now he used it to search for children trapped in the burning building.

_No kids left inside,_ he thought to himself, doing his best to see through the stinging, acrid smoke. _This is the third floor... No time to take the stairs. I'll have to go out a window._ With that thought fixed firmly in mind, he sprinted towards the nearest room.

Two heavy beams had fallen halfway across the window, blocking the way out.

A half-uttered curse tore from Ranma's lips as he looked around. The ominous creaking coming from the flaming floor indicated that it was due to collapse at any moment. _Can't move to the next room,_ he thought, gritting his teeth. One snap decision and a muttered prayer later, the pigtailed martial artist lashed out with a solid kick that reduced the offending beams to so many chunks of flaming wood. The next instant his body was blurring forward, his blue aura winking out of existence as he diverted the remainder of his weakening ki reserves to his legs.

A stray spark, kicked up by the heavy impact of his feet against the floor, found its way into Ranma's eye. He stumbled, catching up against the window sill. Half-blind and almost fainting from pain and exhaustion, the martial artist struggled to regain his center. A sharp crack from above caught his attention, and he looked up with his good eye to see the ceiling coming down, no longer supported by the half-fallen beams.

_This is gonna hurt,_ Ranma thought, and crossed his arms over his head as the world came crashing down around him.

---

I hate the rain.

Don't get me wrong. I used to love rainy days. Some people just don't like getting wet. They stay at home when it rains, looking out their windows, waiting for the water to stop falling from the sky so they can come out and start their lives again. Me, I used to run outside whenever it started raining, letting it soak me to the bone. Never mind the cold I always ended up catching. Even on my training trip with Pops, rain never really was a bother to me.

It took the curse to change that.

People think I hate the curse because it turns me into a girl. They think I wanna be a manly man or something, and while that ain't exactly false, it ain't the real reason I jump for any chance of a cure. What really gets to me is that feeling of me not being myself. Everything changes when I turn into a girl. _Everything._ Not just my height, or my center of balance. My entire perception of the world around me changes, becomes something strange and unknown.

Ah.

Wetness on my face.

It's raining.

---

Ranma opened his eyes, and was greeted by a stormy grey sky. He sat up, absentmindedly brushing the water off of his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Getting to his feet, the martial artist took note of his surroundings: he had been lying in the remains of what had once been a burning building. There seemed to be nobody around, which was good, Ranma supposed - it meant that all the kids had been taken to the hospital. A wry grin turned his lips upward. _Guess they couldn't spare one for me, huh?_

He cautiously patted himself down with his hands, just to make sure nothing was broken or busted. Though he couldn't _feel_ any pain, it never hurt to make sure, after all. An involuntary sigh of relief escaped his lips as no mind-snapping suffering, no incredible agony assaulted him. He took a few experimental deep breaths with his hands flat against his chest and frowned, a look of confusion entering his eyes. He could have sworn the smoke had done some serious damage to his lung-

_His_ chest.

The martial artist's gaze snapped downwards at speeds which would have made Cologne proud, focusing on his cold, wet, _male_ chest. A quick peek down under proved that he had, indeed, stayed male throughout the downpour. He could feel a huge, manic grin spread across his face, and did nothing to stop it. There was no room in his mind for _why_ or _how_, just the pure, undiluted joy of the cure. No more feeling of wrongness, no more subtle dread when the sky clouded ov-

"There you are," someone said from behind him. Before the words had even registered properly in his head, Ranma had whipped around, his hands clenched into fists and his body coiled tightly like a spring, ready to block or dodge any incoming attack. The euphoria of his curse's cure was lost in a rush of adrenalin as he prepared for a fight. Inwardly, he berated himself for letting his guard down so completely. He'd come to rely on his ki sense far too much; a single mistake like that could have cost him his life.

All those thoughts flashed through his head in the blink of an eye, as his eyes focused on his potential opponent. Black jeans. Black vest. Black shirt. Incredibly pale skin, though somehow it didn't seem as unnatural as it should have. Umbrella in one hand - a quick double-take revealed that it probably wasn't meant for use as a bludgeon or other kind of weaponry, although after his high school reunion with Ryoga Hibiki, Ranma would never completely trust the rain-stopping tools again. A strange cross with a loop at one end, cast in silver, hung on a chain around her neck.

She was smiling at him.

The sheer open, unguarded warmth of that smile stopped Ranma cold. His arms dropped limply to his sides as he stared blankly into the girl's eyes, lost in them.

"Hello, Ranma," the girl said at length, propping her umbrella up against her shoulder. Her smile turned into a mischievous grin, and a roguish twinkle entered her eye. "Finished checking me out yet?"

"You got it all wrong!" Ranma blurted, backpedaling as fast as he could, his arms extended in an instinctive I'm-not-a-pervert-please-don't-hurt-me position. The martial artist continued to make excuses, all too aware of the incriminating blush on his cheeks. "I wasn't staring at nothing, honest!"

At length, he peeked out from behind his outstretched fingers to see the girl still standing where she had been before, a slightly bemused expression on her face. Seeing she wasn't about to administer divine retribution with a mallet, a giant spatula, or any other anti-pervert weapon, Ranma cautiously lowered his arms. Despite himself, he felt a sheepish grin spread across his features. With no beatdown imminent, something came to Ranma's attention.

"How'd you know my name?" he asked. "Ranma Saotome" wasn't exactly an unknown name in Nerima, but this girl didn't look like she was from around the neighborhood... or even from Japan, for that matter.

"We've met before," the girl said simply, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "A while ago, although you probably don't remember."

Ranma's brow furrowed in concentration. _Not from around here,_ he thought, _and we've met before..._ One plus one came together in the martial artist's head; this could only mean...

With an exasperated sigh, Ranma pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "All right. How much was it this time?"

The pale girl blinked, frowning quizzically. "Beg your pardon?"

"How much did the old man get for me, this time?" Ranma explained.

Understanding dawned in the girl's eyes. _Here it comes,_ Ranma thought with a mental groan. A part of him idly wondered what style of whacky martial arts she practiced. _Maybe something to do with umbrellas? No, maybe it's some weird art that uses silver crosses-_

"I'm not one of your fiancees, Ranma."

An awkward silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity as Ranma's mouth opened, closed, opened again. At length, the impromptu goldfish act ended.

"What?" he said intelligently.

"I'm not one of your fiancees," the girl in black repeated, doing her best - and failing miserably - to keep the smile off of her face.

"Oh." The sheepish grin came back with a vengeance, bringing along its friend, the incredibly fake-sounding laugh. "Eheheh. I shoulda known," Ranma said, scratching the back of his head. Inside his head, he searched frantically for something - anything - to change the subject.

What he finally managed to blurt out was, "So... uhh... Who are you?" As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he blanched inwardly. Ranma was no master of tact, but even he knew that blunt questions like that weren't good.

Luckily, the pale girl seemed to take no offense. "You know who I am," she said cheerfully. "I told you before, didn't I?"

Ranma blinked, confusion written across his face. "You did...?" Suddenly, he found that he did, indeed, know who the girl was. Memory of a talk long ago - at his birth, in fact - came rushing back to him, and he gasped. "You're... Death."

Death smiled again. "That's me."

"Wait," said Ranma, slowly shaking his head. "That means that I'm..."

"Uh-huh," Death replied to his unspoken statement. "You might have survived the fire, but the lack of air did you in." She blinked owlishly at him. "Do you regret it?"

The martial artist shook his head firmly. "Nah, I died saving kids. Ain't no better way to go out, I think." He shrugged, looking up at the rainy sky. "Guess that's why I'm not changing, huh? Well..." A long sigh. "It was a decent life."

Death shook her head, saying, "You're not changing because you don't have a physical body anymore, Ranma. the only reason you're standing on the ground and getting hit by the rain is because that's how you expect yourself to interact with your surroundings."

"So..." Ranma blinked once, shook his head once or twice, trying to fully understand what the girl was saying. "You're saying I'm only getting wet because I _think_ I should be getting wet?" A nod. "Well if that's so, then why ain't I changing because I _think_ I should be changing?"

"It's called a curse for a reason, Ranma," said Death. "It only affects you when the conditions for activating it are fulfilled, not because you or anyone else thinks it should. After all..." She trailed off as Ranma's eyes started to glaze over, losing their perspective.

As soon as the barrage of long words stopped, Ranma snapped out of it, like a person awakening from deep hypnosis. "Sorry," he said apologetically. "Did you say something?" Death sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Well," she started to say, then paused, as if remembering something. She shifted her umbrella to rest against her other shoulder. Producing a silver stopwatch from her vest pocket, she flipped it open, took a look, and frowned at what she saw. "Shoot. We're late."

_We're_ late?

Before Ranma had time to express anything but minor disconcertment at this sudden development, Death waved her free hand once, and a hole of solid black appeared in midair. It seemed to not so much reflect light as refuse it; it had no shine whatsoever. She turned to Ranma and looked at him expectantly. "You ready to go, then?"

_Go?_

Alarmed, eyes widening, Ranma stammered, "H-hey, I know I did some pretty bad things in my life, but I ain't gonna-" He stopped as Death chuckled, narrowing his eyes. "Is something funny?"

"No, no," she said, waving her hand in denial. "It doesn't lead to hell, silly. Not even remotely close."

An involuntary sigh of relief escaped Ranma's lips. "That's good," he said. He paused for a moment, considering what he'd been told.

"Uh, so where _are _we going?" Ranma asked warily. The martial artist would be the first to admit that he wasn't always the brightest bulb in the box, but something about that inky black door screamed 'danger' to him in mile high flaming letters. Death turned and winked at him, waving one finger in his face.

"That," she said cheerfully, "is a secret."

Ranma groaned and rolled his eyes. "I didn't know that Death watched Slayers."

"She doesn't," Death said, still grinning. "But the priest is a nice guy, once you get to know him." She laughed and took a step into the dark opening, then turned to look at Ranma. "Aren't you coming?"

"You know, I ain't afraid of the dark or nothing," he said, slowly, doing his pathetic best not to look nervous. "But I really don't like the looks of that door."

Death made a face at him. "I was just kidding, you know." She waved her hand and the blackness disappeared in an instant, replaced by a gloomy, dull landscape that was only slightly more reassuring. The smile still on her face, Death took Ranma's hand and pulled him in. "We're going to meet the family."

Before Ranma had time to even think of what Death's family might be like, or ponder the implications that arose from the idea that Death even _had_ a family, a cold, queasy feeling enveloped him as he passed through the gateway, into the realm of the Dream King.

---

Next Chapter: Dream


	2. Dream

Disclaimer: All characters and other thingies within belong to their respective creators.

At the End of the Tunnel

Chapter 2 - Dream

---

Ranma stepped out of the portal, into a world which was considerably darker and gloomier than the one he'd left behind. The clouds were thick, looking to Ranma more like industrial smog than puffs of condensed mist. The fact that there were no living beings in sight did little to reassure the martial artist. Death, on the other hand, seemed to take little note of the dreary surroundings. She folded up her umbrella and started to walk forward, pulling Ranma along with her. Not having anything better to do, Ranma followed her dumbly.

His eyes vainly scanned the landscape for signs of life, and he consciously stretched his ki sense as far as he could, to no avail. After ten minutes of uninterrupted walking and no sign of anything changing, he hesitantly cleared his throat. "Uh, Death?"

"Mhmm?" was the absentminded reply.

"Are you sure your brother lives here? It..." Ranma paused, searching for the best way to say it. "Kinda... looks like nobody's here," he finished, lamely. Even the ground itself looked old and tired. "Ain't even no houses around or nothing."

Death let go of the martial artist's hand and turned around, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh?" she said lightly. "Lots of people live here, Ranma. My brother lives at the center of the Dreaming."

Ranma frowned. "And where's that?"

"Here."

There was no sense of anything changing. One moment, Ranma and Death were standing in the middle of nowhere; the next, in front of a colossal castle that towered high enough to block out the sky. Ranma blinked in surprise, and then craned his neck back... and back... and back... He started, his gaze snapping back down to earth as a hand came down on his shoulder. Death smirked at him.

"Don't bother trying," she said to him confidentially. "It probably doesn't have a defined top."

"Oh," said Ranma, nonplussed. A movement caught his eye and he turned to see-

Brilliant blue-white energy burst into being around his balled fists, turning night into day. Ranma wasn't sure exactly what the eagle-headed lion with wings, or the winged horse were, but he knew a dragon when he saw one. The look it was giving him didn't seem to be unfriendly, but Ranma knew he was no expert at reading dragon faces. For all he knew, it could be sizing him up, perhaps pondering whether or not Ranma's pigtail might catch on its fangs as it gulped him down.

A tense moment passed as he cautiously and quickly stepped between the dragon and Death, careful not to show it any weak points to exploit. It continued to stare at him curiously, head cocked to one side, slit eyes locked with his. The eery resemblance to a cat wasn't lost on Ranma, and he shivered, forcefully reminding himself that cats did not have scales, and certainly didn't have wings.

Death tapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, Ranma?"

"What is it?" the martial artist said tersely, not taking his eyes off the dragon. He'd never taken on a dragon before, but he could instinctively tell that the thing was no pushover. He scanned it with his eyes, trying to decide where to strike once it came for him. _Maybe a shot to its wings if it starts flying..._ he thought.

"Do you do this kind of thing often?" Death's voice said behind him, amused. Before Ranma could do or say anything, she stepped in front of him and waved cheerfully at the dragon with the hand that wasn't holding her umbrella. "Hi, Wyvern! Long time no see."

The dragon opened its mouth - Ranma tensed, prepared to dive and knock his guide out of the way if it spouted fire like they always did in the movies - and spoke in a deep, rumbling voice like stone grinding against stone. "Lady Death. Your visits are always welcome."

_Huh?_

"Is your companion well, my lady?" asked Wyvern, somehow managing to convey polite concern while still sounding like a rock slide in progress. "He seems... nervous." Ranma, having begun to understand just what was going on, frowned sourly.

"It's just his way of saying hello," Death said casually. "Right, Ranma?"

Ranma mumbled something that might have been "Right," but might just as easily have been something unfit for the ears of children. Either way, Death nodded happily, seemingly satisfied.

"Spiffy. Ranma, I want you to meet my brother's gatekeepers," she said, gesturing to each one as she named them. "Wyvern, Hippogriff, and Griffin." The three beasts of legend bowed respectfully.

"Greetings, Lord Ranma," said the hippogriff. "It is our pleasure to welcome you to our master's abode."

"Uh, hi," replied Ranma. He felt that the expression of confusion plastered across his face would never quite disappear. It wasn't everyday he was addressed as a lord by a winged horse. Some things were just too strange, even for Ranma Saotome. "Nice to meet you, too."

Death took his hand again before he could embarrass himself further. "Come on, Ranma," she said, leading him into the doorway. "I told you we were late, didn't I?" For his part, Ranma said nothing, instead eyeing the wyvern nervously as he passed it by, still not quite trusting that it didn't want Barbecued Ranma Saotome for dinner.

---

Of all the weird places I've been, this one really takes the cake. Even places like Ryugenzawa and Jusenkyo don't hold a candle to some of the stuff I'm seeing right now. A guy with a pumpkin for a head just walked past me. And I think he was drunk.

Death don't seem to mind at all; I guess she's used to it or something.

There's a raven talking with a guy in white, leaning against a doorway. The guy has a neat pair of shades on, and his white hair looks pretty natural to me. I dunno what they're talking about, but it probably ain't nothing nice, seeing as how the raven is ruffling its feathers, and the guy with shades is frowning.

Strange, now that I'm close enough to hear them, I can swear there's four people talking. One of them is the raven, and the second's the guy in white, but there's two voices speaking with him, too. They sound kinda buzzy, like mosquitoes sound when they get too close to your ears. Something about those two voices gives me the creeps. In fact, I'll admit that they scare the shit out of me, man among men be damned. There's just something about the man that's _wrong_, like-

The guy stops talking suddenly, and turns to look at me. When I say look, I mean, he turned to face me, because I can't see his eyes behind his sunglasses. He keeps on staring at me, and I stare back, and suddenly I get hit by the thought that the guy don't _have_ any eyes. I dunno why the idea sticks in my head, but I can't get it out.

He peels himself off the wall and stands straight, and then I know I'm in trouble. The way he's holding himself screams danger. I'm a martial artist, yeah, probably even the best in my generation. I went toe to toe with guys who claimed to be gods and descendents of dragons, and managed to come out on top. But that don't mean I don't know it when I'm outta my league.

Something about the guy in white says that he just can't lose. At least, not to anything human. I dunno how to put it. I might be more skilled, stronger, probably faster to boot. His body ain't nothing to write home about. But there's still something inside me that _knows_ what this guy is, and it's telling me I can't beat it, not if I trained a million years. Almost like the guy was _made_ to beat me.

He takes another step forward, and a part of me wonders what happens when dead people die.

---

Death stepped smoothly in between Ranma and the man in white, shooting the latter a glare that would have made most men faint on the spot. "That's _quite_ enough, nightmare," she snapped, showing the first emotion besides cheerful good nature since Ranma had met her. "Don't you have anything better to be doing?"

The Corinthian - who, being something altogether different from and a great deal worse than a man, had not fainted - chuckled. "Now that you mention it, my lady," he said, "I do seem to remember a pressing affair that had somehow slipped my mind." He slipped off his sunglasses and winked at Ranma, who flinched at the sharp clack of teeth coming together despite himself. "See you around, Ranma."

"Who... _what_ was that?" Ranma asked hesitantly, as the Corinthian disappeared into a side hallway, the raven flying away through a nearby window. Though he'd never admit it, the encounter had left him shaken. Death frowned and said nothing, an expression of mild distaste on her face.

"The darker side of humanity, Ranma," she finally said, and left it at that.

Wordlessly, the martial artist followed her as she started walking again. The silence stood until they reached a modestly sized room, decorated by large stained glass windows. A short flight of stairs led to an elevated platform in the center of the room, hosting two chairs and a wooden table.

A man with shockingly white skin and hair, dressed in equally white robes, sat waiting in the larger chair. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging their presence. "My sister." His voice was like the dark between the stars.

"Good morning, Dream," Death said, having seemingly regained her cheery disposition. "This is Ranma. Ranma, this is my brother, Dream." Ranma stared at the pale man, nonplussed. Sitting still, Dream could have been carved out of marble, if not for the telltale subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Umm. Hi, Dream," Ranma said hesitantly. Inwardly, he groaned and thought, _I have to work on my hellos somehow. This is getting old._ "Nice to meet you."

The ghost of a smile flickered across Dream's face before disappearing like the morning fog. "The pleasure is mine, Ranma Saotome."

"I think I'll let you two get to know each other better," said Death brightly. She made not the slightest attempt to conceal the fact she was leaving them together on purpose. "I'll be back in a bit." Before Ranma could even think of raising a hand to stop her, she turned and disappeared around a corner.

Ranma stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. He'd be the first to admit that his people skills left much to be desired. Dream seemed to sense his distress and gestured to the smaller chair. "Please sit."

Seating himself in the chair, which was much more comfortable than it had looked, Ranma fidgeted uneasily. "So, Dream, was it?" Dream simply nodded, once, not showing the slightest bit of interest in saying anything. Ranma could feel the sweat start to break out in fine beads on his forehead. "Your sis is a nice person," he blurted desperately, searching blindly for an icebreaker.

Luckily, it seemed to have been the right thing to say. "Indeed, she is," Dream said, that ghostly smile appearing and vanishing just as quickly as before. "Would you like something to drink?"

Surprised by the sudden question, Ranma named the first thing that came to mind. "Orange juice."

Wordlessly, Dream produced a pitcher of the stuff and poured some into a pair of tall glasses. Taking one for himself, he motioned for Ranma to take the other. The martial artist took a cautious taste, blinked, grinned in surprise. "Hey! This tastes just like the stuff Ucchan gave me back when we were kids!"

Dream nodded, taking a small sip from his own glass and then setting it down on the table. "That is because it is, Ranma. You dreamed of it once, the day after your father took you away from your friend. I remembered it, as I remember all dreams."

Ranma paused, processing the meaning of his words. "You must be pretty old, then." A nod. "You don't look that old to me," he observed.

"I am younger than my elder brother and sister, and older than my other siblings," Dream said simply, and didn't expand. Ranma thought about it for a moment, realized that it told him absolutely nothing meaningful, and frowned. Dream surprised him, though, by adding another comment.

"I am also the youngest of my family."

Ranma blinked.

"I have existed since the first dreamer closed its eyes," the Dream King explained, spreading his arms apart. "This is true. I was also, once, a child named Daniel Hall." He paused for a moment. "This is also true."

In response, Ranma nodded the nod of complete and utter ignorance.

"The Endless - my siblings and I - embody various aspects of the universe, Ranma. As a rule, we do not die easily, and in the event we are destroyed, we are replaced by another aspect of ourselves. My predecessor died through a series of circumstances which were at once completely avoidable and yet inescapable."

Ranma stared at the man in white sitting across from him. "I'd like it if you could say that again, in a language I can understand," he said numbly. If the man attacked him with long words anymore, he thought he might explode.

The Dream King's lips twitched in what might or might not have been a smirk. "I am the second one to bear the moniker of Dream of the Endless," he said.

Another blank look. "And?"

"I- My first incarnation," Dream started, "gathered many names and many identities. He transformed himself as the need took him, yet the change was ever superficial, ever a guise worn over himself like a piece of clothing. In the last years of his existence, he started truly changing, a process which he found painful and not altogether to his liking." The pale man held up the emerald which hung around his neck and stared darkly into its depths. "There were limits to how much he could let himself change."

"He set into motion events which would ensure an aspect of his choosing - one able to do what he could not - would take up the name of Dream, once he died," he continued. "As I said before, I was a child at the time. The process which took place at the moment of Dream's death transformed me. Daniel Hall was gone, and in his place stood Dream of the Endless."

"What happened then?" Ranma asked, unable to suppress the slight shudder that passed through him. The idea of being taken over by a foreign entity was not a pleasant one.

"I am not Daniel Hall, nor the first Dream, but rather an amalgam of the two. I know everything the latter knew, but I am... _different_. How much of either remains after my alternation I do not know."

Ranma frowned quizzically, struggling to understand the other man's words properly. "So lemme get this straight. Part of you's really old, another part of you's a kid, and now you're one person, right?"

It was Dream's turn to pause, surprised. "I suppose you could put it that way," he said slowly.

With a shrug, Ranma picked up his glass of juice and finished it off, smacking his lips. "Ahh, that's better. I seen weirder things, Dream. No biggie." The martial artist peered curiously at Dream over the rim of his glass. "Err... This kinda thing happen a lot?"

Dream shook his head and said, "Only twice since the beginning of the universe have the Endless lost one of their number." He paused for a second, then added, "One other could also be said to be lost, though my elder sister did not take him."

"So what's that guy doing?" Ranma asked.

"I do not know." Dream replied shortly.

A short, uncomfortable silence passed. At length, Dream passed another filled glass to Ranma. The martial artist accepted it wordlessly.

"The dream of humanity has always been to exceed its limits," Dream said abruptly. "What they do not know - what the few who do manage to fulfill that unattainable dream _do_ - is that in the process of doing so, they often lose what made them human in the first place." His voice betrayed no outward emotion, yet at the same time seemed infinitely sad for some reason.

"I guess you could look at it that way, but then again, I think that what makes you human is how you think about yourself," said Ranma carefully, struggling for the words. "I mean, you're different from the guy who came before you, right?"

"In some ways, yes, but undeniably similar in many more," Dream replied. "All that was mortal in Daniel Hall was burned away. What remained took on the aspect of Dream."

Ranma pressed on stubbornly. "Well, then who says the stuff that's left ain't human? Because it's not mortal? Them philosopher guys always go on about the immortal soul, right? Sure, what's left might be a bit different," he said. "But it's still you, whether you're that kid called Daniel or Dream or whatever. You're what you decide you are." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "You said all that stuff about changing. Ever stop to think that your idea about what makes humans human could do with some changing too?"

"But it is the nature of what I am-" Dream started to say, then stopped as Ranma cut him off with a sharp chopping motion of his hand.

"Why d'you have to keep on making up complicated excuses?" Ranma demanded testily. "If you think you're human, then you are, and that's all there is to it."

For the first time in a very long time, Dream of the Endless found himself at a loss for words. Ranma drank the rest of his juice as Dream pondered what the pigtailed boy had told him. At last, he said, "I had not considered that."

"Perhaps it is possible to become more than human without losing one's humanity." The Dream King rose from his seat, motioning for Ranma to do the same. The martial artist let out the breath he'd been holding and grinned; it seemed he'd actually managed to make someone feel better, instead of sticking his foot into his mouth like he usually did. "Time shall tell whether or not you were correct in your theory, Ranma Saotome."

Dream looked up at the ceiling. "Sister."

"Done talking?" Death asked, having suddenly appeared out of nowhere in front of Dream. The Endless answered with a nod, Ranma following suit after a moment's hesitation.

"It was a most... enlightening conversation for us both," added Dream, something that could have been amusement lurking deep in his voice.

"Just peachy," said Death sincerely. She turned to face Ranma and snagged his hand again. "That means you're ready to go again, right?"

Ranma blinked. _Just what's the reason behind this tour of the family?_ "Again?"

"Of course," Death said, unruffled by the martial artist's perturbation. "It's not like Dream is my only sibling, right?"

So calmly and casually, so matter-of-factly was this said, that Ranma found himself nodding in comprehension. A moment later, he started, realizing that it had done nothing at all to answer his question, but it was already too late. Having seen his nod, Death had turned to face Dream and was looking at him expectantly.

"Follow me," Dream said, turning around. They did so, arriving at a small room, devoid of decoration except for a series of seven portrait frames. Walking towards the last one, he pressed his palm against it.

"Delirium? I stand in my gallery. I lay my hand on your sigil. Will you answer me?" he intoned. Not long after, a voice filled the air. How it managed to do so, Ranma didn't know, but he could have sworn that it somehow sounded... _polka dot pink._

"Dream? Umm. I think I will. I am right now, right?" the voice said. It lilted wildly, without reason. "Did you just call me because you're bored and stuff or is it because Death and this martial artist guy are standing there with you and they wanna come visit me?"

If Dream felt any surprise at Delirium's observation, he didn't show it. "That is precisely it, sister. Will you allow them passage into your realm?"

"You have to make the guy promise he won't turn into a statue with fizzy chocolate clothes and purple sprinkles."

Death gave Ranma a sidelong glance, a look that said, _Don't ask. Just do it._ Ranma shrugged and-

"Or a pretty redheaded girl," the tilted voice added, as an afterthought.

-gulped, swallowing his words.

Death sighed and said, "He promises to do his best, Del." There was a short silence, as if someone was thinking something over.

"Okay. You can come in now. Just don't step on the doggie. He bites. People. Lots."

---

Next chapter: Delirium 


	3. Delirium

Disclaimer: All characters and other thingies within belong to their respective creators.

At the End of the Tunnel

Chapter 3 - Delirium

---

"Okay. You can come in now. Just don't step on the doggie. He bites. People. Lots."

So said, the crazy swirl of shapes and colors that was Delirium's sigil began to expand beneath Dream's hand. It grew taller and wider, but not uniformly as Ranma would have expected. Instead, it spread out in the air like a puddle of water might, flowing randomly outwards until it was big enough for a person to step comfortably into. Ranma found that staring at it too much left him dizzy; something about how the colors shifted and melted into each other made his head hurt.

The martial artist started to step forward, then paused before the gateway, turning to face Death. "You sure this is safe?" Drawing closer to the portal, he had discovered that it smelled like a mixture of sickly sweet perfume and paint remover.

"You said the same thing about the way to Dream's place, remember?" she replied. "And that turned out just fine.

"Want me to hold your hand on the way in?" Coming from anyone else, the question would have seemed mocking, condescending. But Ranma found no scornful tone in Death's voice, and heard it only for what it was: an honest, simple question.

"No, I think I'll be fine," he said, though he couldn't keep the doubt from seeping into his words. He turned to face Dream. "Uhh, thanks for the juice and all," he said awkwardly. "See you." Having said his goodbye, Ranma closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opened them again. Having found his center, he stepped firmly forward, disappearing into the stain in the wall that looked more like an oil slick than a doorway.

Instead of following Ranma in directly, Death sighed, her cheerful demeanor suddenly seeming to fade slightly. A hint of stress appeared on her face as she turned to face her brother. "Our brother was better at this kind of thing than I am. Do you think he'll be alright?"

For a moment, Dream said nothing, his eyes shadowy and dark. One white, slender hand grasped the emerald hanging from his neck, his fingers running absently over its surface. At length, he said, "If you had asked me before I had talked to him, I would have said no, my sister. However..." He paused again. "Now, I am not so sure."

The Dream King smiled. A true smile. "Whether he succeeds or not, I wish him the best of luck."

Death grinned back at her brother and said, "I'll tell him you said that." Then, without a backward glance, she walked into Delirium's realm, leaving the Dream King alone in his gallery.

He stood still for a moment, his black eyes roaming slowly across the portraits in his gallery. His gaze finally came to rest on his own pale face, staring back at him from the depths of a mirror. He stayed there for a long while afterwards, his thoughts very far away, indeed, from what his eyes saw.

"The dream of humanity," he said to himself. The smile left Dream's face as he turned and strode from his gallery, his white robes whispering softly against the floor.

---

You know how I said Dream's house was the weirdest place I'd ever been? Guy with a pumpkin head, scary guy with teeth for eyes, talking raven...

I take it all back. This place is like what it'd be like if you took all the weird in the world and dumped it into a big room. Hell, I don't understand half the stuff that's going on. My ki sense is going crazy... my _eyes_ are going crazy. There's a sun hanging in the sky that don't look so much like a sun as a giant pizza. Someone took a big bite outta the edge, and green light's kinda leaking outta it like egg yolk.

It's starting to rain water apples. And by water apples, I mean apples made outta water. One hits my head and splashes open, turning my hair red. I shrink a few centimeters and grow a nice rack while I'm at it. I have to fight the shiver that shakes my body; I'd almost forgot how much I hated changing. Looks like Death was right; my curse ain't gone after all.

Speaking of Death, she ain't coming through. Wonder what's keeping her. I got a few things to ask her; mostly about just why I'm being dragged around to meet her family. I ain't dumb, though a lot of people I know think so. I'm pretty sure that Death don't treat everyone she meets to this kinda grand tour. There's gotta be some kinda reason, and I get the feeling that something's being kept secret from me. Hang around Nabiki long enough, and you get a feeling whenever it happens.

Then the ground caves in under my feet.

---

Ranma landed softly, her knees instinctively bent to absorb the impact. The place she'd arrived at had a bright blue ceiling, which was unbroken despite the fact that she must have fallen through it on her way in. Two beanbag cushions sat around a merrily burning fireplace. Ranma blinked in surprise as she noticed that the "fire" was, in fact, composed of thousands of tiny burning sprites, dancing in the air. A German shepherd lay warming itself next to the flame, giving Ranma a calm, almost human look.

Ranma stared at the dog. The dog stared at Ranma. This comfortable status quo lasted for roughly half a minute, before Ranma opened her mouth to speak.

The dog beat her to it.

"Strange," he commented. "You look almost normal." Ranma forgot to close her open mouth, staring blankly at the talking canine. Seeing the martial artist's failure to reply, the dog sighed an incredibly human sigh, and then placed his paws over his head in an exceedingly doglike manner. "I don't know why I even bother," he grumbled. "They never talk back in a language I can understand, anyway."

Part of Ranma noted that the dog was the first being she'd met in this strange realm that seemed even remotely sentient. Another part realized that the dog assumed her to be a part of this crazy world, just as she had assumed the dog to be. Which meant that there was a good chance that the dog was a resident, not a construct, of the place she had found herself in, and was probably a great deal more knowledgeable about the surroundings than she herself was. Having made several brilliant deductions and leaps of faith, Ranma gave a mental shrug - _Got nothing to lose_ - and said, "Hey, dog. D'you know where I can find this chick named Delirium or something?"

"Oh, goody," the dog said dryly, looking up at Ranma with what was perhaps the most unenthusiastic approximation of excitement that the martial artist had ever seen. "The girl can speak."

The reply came automatically. "I'm a guy."

The dog merely nodded once in acquiescence, his voice somehow managing to convey equal amounts of polite interest and amused disbelief. "Then I must inform you, good sir," he said, "that you are endowed with the most impressive pair of breasts which I have ever had the questionable privilege of seeing on a male of your species."

Raising a paw to stave off Ranma's angry protest, the dog continued. "But belay that kind of talk. My name is Barnabas, not dog, and the one you're looking for happens to be my master."

The martial artist's eyes lit up. _Bingo._ "So d'you know where she is?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Barnabas said, watching Ranma deflate visibly. "She comes and goes as she wills, although she mentioned she was expecting a visit from her sister and her companion." He looked up at Ranma. "I take it that said companion is none other than yourself."

Ranma nodded and said, "How'd you know?"

"Those who come into this realm of their own accord are rarely coherent enough to hold intelligent conversations with anyone," replied the dog. "So you must have been escorted here." At Ranma's nod, he continued. "Where's your guide?"

Before Ranma could do more than open her mouth to reply, a lilting, skewed voice sounded from beneath him.

"You promised you wouldn't turn into a pretty redheaded girl," the voice said accusingly. A door opened up from the floor and the owner of the voice walked out of it. She had neon pink hair in a long ponytail, and was dressed in an oversized trench coat, unbuttoned. Underneath the coat, Ranma could make out a frilly lace vest and a short blue skirt. Her eyes were differently colored. One was a startlingly bright shade of emerald green; the other was pale blue. Silver flecks floated randomly in the iris of her green eye, like goldfish in a tank.

Ranma blinked, nonplussed, as the girl continued to glare at her. "Uh... Sorry?" she offered weakly, raising her hands up beside her head.

Surprisingly, the girl accepted her apology. "Okay." She turned to face Barnabas, completely ignoring the pigtailed martial artist. "Doggie, am I forgetting anything? Because I forget things sometimes. I think. I forget."

"You were going to meet your sister and her companion, who I believe is standing there next to you," "Doggie" replied, apparently used to the nickname. "Your sister is nowhere to be seen."

Delirium turned and looked at Ranma again. "You promised you wouldn't turn into a pretty redheaded girl."

"I believe you already said that," Barnabas said, amused. He laughed in his doglike way, and sauntered out of the room through the ground-door, closing it behind him with a flick of his tail.

"Oh."

Ranma, who had been fidgeting nervously, finally found her voice. "Death said I was supposed to talk to you."

"She did?" said Delirium, sounding curious. "She says lots of stuff, you know. Once she said something about keen peaches, except it wasn't in that order. And there was that one time she told me lots of good things about me to make me feel better." The girl paused, her oddly mismatched eyes focussed on nothing. "But I wasn't myself back then."

Having nothing better to do, Ranma nodded dumbly. A part of her mentally noted that she was doing that a lot lately, but she ignored it. "So..." She trailed off, finding herself beset by the awkward situation of talking to someone she didn't have the faintest idea about. Inwardly cursing herself - the same thing had happened with Dream, damn it - she blindly opened her mouth, trusting it to do the talking for her while her brain came back from its impromptu vacation. Never mind that that trust had gotten her many a righteous fist to the face in the past, when her foot came up of its own accord and lodged itself in said mouth.

"Peachy keen." Delirium said, a smile lighting up her face.

"Huh?"

"It's what my sister said once," the girl explained. "Peachy keen. Not keen peaches. Peaches aren't keen. They're kind of mushy, except when they're not ripe and then they're hard but still not keen." In Delirium's world, apparently, things like "making sense" only happened to other people.

Ranma found herself completely and utterly lost. Making a gamble, she employed the time-honored Saotome secret conversation technique of Changing the Subject. "Your brother was a pretty cool guy, once I got to know him," she said, thinking of the pale Dream King. "Made some wicked juice."

"His beard was scratchy." Unfortunately for Ranma, her opponent was an unparalleled master of Changing the Subject, having had over ten billion years of experience to polish her skills in the art. "It tickled when he kissed me on the cheek."

Ranma gave up and flopped down onto the beanbag nearest to her, ignoring the faint titters of the fire sprites. The girl was living up to her name; Ranma hadn't the faintest idea what in the world she was talking about.

The ceiling changed to a murky, rolling grey that reminded Ranma of thunderclouds on the horizon. Delirium sprawled haphazardly on the beanbag next to the redhead, idly creating winged poodles that sunk slowly into the ground. "We went to look for him," she said slowly, staring at the floor. "And we found him." Her hair changed color and shortened to come to an end just below her shoulders, flame red and frizzy. "But he didn't have a beard anymore."

Ranma didn't quite understand what the girl was talking about (to be perfectly honest, she hadn't had an inkling from the moment that disembodied voice had mentioned statues with chocolate clothing), but such things had never stopped her. "Dream had a beard?"

"Nuh-uh," Delirium said. "He never liked beards. Said they got in the way and stuff."

"You're not talking about Dream, then?"

Delirium blinked and shook her head. "Yeah I am. I told you he never liked beards."

Ranma suppressed the urge to scream through a great effort of will. "Then _who had a beard?_"

"Oh. You should have said that in the first place. Lots of people had beards. Abraham Lincoln had one," Delirium said, matter-of-factly, ignoring the fact that Ranma was now doing a remarkably good impression of a red-haired puffer fish.

"My brother Destruction had one."

Ranma stopped on the verge of shouting. The girl was finally making sense! "So your brother Destruction had a beard."

"He did. Umm. Five hundred years ago, I think. But he didn't, two hundred years ago." Delirium nodded to herself. "Have a beard, that is."

Deciding that resistance was futile, Ranma just followed along. "This Destruction guy don't have a beard no more, right?"

"I don't know."

"Eh?"

"I don't know," Delirium repeated, as the ceiling changed color to a dark red. "He's gone now. He didn't come back with me and make me laugh and dance with me. I asked him to. But he didn't, and I couldn't make him. There're sharks in the water and they'll eat you if you aren't careful."

_"One other could also be said to be lost, though my elder sister did not take him,"_ Dream had said, and Ranma remembered this suddenly. She pieced together what she'd learned from the disjointed conversation, discarding what she thought she didn't need. Delirium had another brother named Destruction, who she had gone looking for once, presumably two centuries ago. Another conclusion was that this Destruction was none other than the "lost one" Dream had referred too.

"You haven't seen Destruction in two hundred years?" she started, slowly. Delirium nodded.

"I thought he'd come back, but he didn't. He left, and I don't think I can find him again, even if I wanted to. I don't want to. Not anymore. Not really." She bit her nails nervously. "He gave me a doggie, though."

"So... where's he now?" asked Ranma cautiously, remembering Dream's short answer to a similar question.

Delirium replied, "I don't know. I do. I know but I forgot, like the way you always forget that you're not wearing anything but your underwear in dreams, and then you suddenly remember halfway to work. Except I haven't suddenly remembered yet. Some things are better off that way."

"Anyway-" Ranma started to say, but stopped, her mouth snapping closed with an audible click as Delirium continued.

"But now you're here instead and I'm all confused."

_I'm here?_ "What do you mean by that?" Ranma asked, suddenly disoriented. The "instead" that Delirium had said had not gone unnoticed, and she didn't know what to make of it.

"Well, Destruction left his realm behind. And now that you've come here, things are changing. Like guys who change into black piglets when they get hit with water, except different." She would have said more, but she was interrupted by the sound of an impact on the ceiling, as if someone was knocking. "Come in."

A door opened and Death walked through, shaking water off of her umbrella. "So there you are," she said, her tone somewhat exasperated. "I thought you'd gotten yourself lost and I was looking all over the place for you." The umbrella vanished, off to wherever umbrellas go when not in use. The pale girl looked over at her sister and said, "No offense, Del, but your realm could use a little cleaning up."

Said sister pouted, puffing her cheeks out. "I like it this way. The fishies are always where I don't want them to be."

"Something the matter, Ranma?" asked Death, turning to look at the martial artist. The redhead had a brooding expression on her face, her normally crystal blue eyes clouded and confused.

"Not that I'm not grateful to you for showing me around like this after I died and all..." Ranma started, standing up to face her guide. "But I wanna know about this Destruction guy, and what he has to do with me." she finished firmly, letting a hint of iridescent ki flicker behind her eyes. She'd had enough of blindly doing what other people wanted when she was alive; she had little intention of doing the same in death.

To her surprise, Death just sighed and massaged her forehead, as if to stave off a headache. "Del, just what were you two talking about before I got here?"

"Umm. Lots of stuff," the younger Endless said. "Keen peaches and juice." She slumped on the beanbag, twiddling her thumbs and refusing to meet Death's eyes.

"And?"

Unable to withstand her sister's steady gaze any longer, Delirium blurted, "And we talked about Destruction and how he left and Ranma and I really didn't say that much so don't get mad at me please..."

Death waved her hand once, saying, "It's nothing. Had to come up sooner or later. Don't worry, Del." She cracked a wry grin as Delirium relaxed visibly, seeming to deflate into her beanbag seat. The pale girl turned to face Ranma. "Sorry for keeping you in the dark like that, Ranma." Surprisingly, her voice didn't sound as worried or angry as the martial artist had expected. "I was going to tell you later, when you'd had time to adjust to things a bit more, but it looks like Del let the cat out of the bag."

"So are you gonna tell me what's going on?" Ranma asked doubtfully.

Death nodded. "Mhmm. No use crying over spilled milk, after all. Desire will have to wait; we'll have to take a side-trip to my place first." A black hole appeared silently next to her, looking much the same as the one she had made next to the ruined school building. She looked over at Delirium and said, "Sorry for leaving so soon, Del. Take care, little sister."

The girl nodded absently, her attention captivated by a pair of crying, purple hours that were busily running up and down her legs. "Uh-huh. Don't be sorry. I used to know why you shouldn't be sorry, but I forgot it a few minutes ago. I'll tell you if I ever remember."

Ranma stared at the black gate warily; it hadn't looked very appealing the first time around, and having been through it once didn't make it look any friendlier. "Where's this one going to?"

"I told you," Death said, already halfway through. "My place."

Inwardly thinking very uncharitable thoughts about her afterlife, which so far had consisted mostly of meeting weird people and walking through strange doors, Ranma heaved a huge sigh. "This kinda thing always happens to me," she said wearily, and turned to face her host. "Sorry about this. Nice talking to you." The martial artist twitched as she noticed that Delirium wasn't listening to her at all, apparently absorbed in by the fire sprites, who had all turned a frighteningly bright shade of blue. "Umm... I'll be going now."

Still looking back over her shoulder, Ranma followed Death through the black gate. Delirium remained as she was for a few minutes, then flipped over, staring at the ceiling.

"He was nice, wasn't he, doggie? Even though he was a girl. I don't know whether I like him more than my brother yet, though." The silence made her get up, looking around. "Doggie? Did I lose you again?"

A moment later, Delirium left through a door in the bright green ceiling, leaving the room behind her empty.

---

Next chapter: Desire


	4. Desire

Disclaimer: All characters and other thingies within belong to their respective creators. Ranma 1/2 to Takahashi Rumiko, Sandman to Neil Gaiman.

At the End of the Tunnel

Chapter 4 - Desire

---

Ranma stepped out into a brightly lit Western-style apartment. The room she was in was sparsely yet tastefully decorated with various pieces of furniture. A small table, chipped and worn with age, held a fishbowl containing a pair of goldfish. A square-shaped mirror hung on the wall, set at head level. Next to it was what appeared to be a picture of a family gathering. A long, overstuffed sofa took up one side of the room. On the opposite wall was mounted a wide black screen that looked somewhat like a TV, but Ranma had never seen a television that thin. Between them was a coffee table that had obviously seen better days. Death was nowhere to be seen. Having nothing better to do, the currently female martial artist flopped down on one end of the couch.

Death's voice came from a side room, sounding slightly muffled. "Want anything to drink, Ranma?" The redhead got up and peered in. Her eyes were met by a small, cozy kitchen, complete with oven, fridge, and stove. Death had the refrigerator open and was rummaging through it. She came up with a bottle of Coca-Cola in one hand and lemon tea in the other. "Sorry, this is all I've got right now."

"I'm fine, thanks," Ranma said, with a wave of her hand. She looked around, her eye catching the kettle sitting on the kitchen's small stove. "D'you got any hot water?"

"Sure," Death replied, filling the kettle with water and setting it back on the stove. She poured herself a tall glass of tea, added a few ice cubes from the fridge, and left, shooing Ranma out in front of her. She tipped the martial artist a wink. "It'll be hot soon enough."

Ranma took one corner of the couch, then flinched nervously as Death casually seated herself right next to her. She still wasn't quite used to having women in close proximity to herself in situations which didn't involve imminent heavy beatings. However, the pale girl sipping lemon tea next to her didn't seem to mind, and Ranma calmed down in short order.

A short silence fell, broken only by the slight clink-clink of the ice-cubes in Death's glass as she took another drink. At length, she said, "So."

Ranma blinked. "So?"

Death shook her head. "I'm thinking of what to say."

"Oh."

Another short silence.

"Alright," Death said abruptly. "I'm going to be honest, Ranma. It's the least I can do after keeping you in the dark so far. Although..." She paused, and smiled at Ranma over the brim of her glass. "To tell the truth, you never asked."

Ranma spluttered. "Hey! You kept things moving so fast-" She would have expounded more on the unfairness of the situation, but was interrupted by a high, piercing whistle.

Death looked up, setting her glass down on the coffee table. "That'll be your hot water," she said. She walked into the kitchen and returned a moment later, gingerly handling the steaming kettle. It disappeared from her hand as Ranma snatched it eagerly. "Wait! It's-"

Before she could say aught else, Ranma upended the kettle above her head, letting the steaming liquid splash all over her. "Hot," Death finished lamely.

Five minutes later, after Ranma had finished his impromptu solo rendition of the _Waltz of Scalding Water_, Death scooted over so he wouldn't have to sit on the wet spot on the sofa. The martial artist ran his hands carefully over his tender face, doing his best not to wince at the throbbing pain. He ignored the stifled snickers coming from his side, happy just to be male again. "Okay," he started, biting back a low hiss as the movement of his lips stretched his enflamed skin. "Tell me what this is all about."

"We - my siblings and I - are the Endless," Death explained readily, spreading her hands apart. "We embody the seven aspects of sentient consciousness and the universe as a whole: destiny, death, dream, destruction, desire, despair and delirium."

Frowning, Ranma asked, "Delirium's an aspect of the universe?"

"Delirium used to be Delight, but that was a long time ago and another story altogether," the pale girl said. "Anyway, we've existed since the first living being came to be, and we'll continue to exist until the universe itself comes to an end."

The pigtailed boy blinked, struggling to fully comprehend the fact that he was sitting across from a girl who was older than the planet he'd been born on. "And I thought the crone was old..." he said quietly.

Death sniffed and turned away from him, saying, "I like to think of myself as young at heart, thank you very much." Her voice was the picture of offended indignation, but the grin on her face gave her away. "But anyway.

"We represent, reflect - and, to a certain extent, control - the concept that's our namesake. If one of us dies, another aspect manifests to insure that things go on as they should."

Ranma nodded hesitantly, thinking back to his conversation with Dream. "Yeah, Dream told me some of that stuff. Said he was the second Dream or something. But what's all that got to do with Destruction? He ain't dead, right?"

"That's exactly the problem," Death replied. "He's not dead, he just abandoned his duties and left, a few centuries ago. Another aspect can't fill in his place because there's no place to fill. I met him a while after the wake for Morpheus - the first Dream. Del had almost lost herself and he'd shown up to take her with him for a while, and I took the opportunity to ask him what he thought was going to happen now that he'd given up his role."

Death took another drink before continuing. "He told me that destruction would continue to happen as before, just not as controlled as it had been before he left. It looked like he was right, until a few years ago."

"What happened?"

"Well, normally," Death started, "destruction is a kind of controlled cycle. Things are destroyed and elsewhere, other things come into being. Following me?" Ranma nodded, and she continued. "But without anything to keep it in check, it's all becoming more chaotic, the whole process is quickly spiraling out of control. The reactions that cause destruction are becoming more volatile; they last longer and cause more damage than they should. It's a kind of vicious circle: creation can't keep up to replace the things that've been destroyed, and as the difference becomes more pronounced, more destruction takes place, and less creation. If things continue as they're looking to, the end of the universe will come about a few trillion years ahead of schedule. Still following me?"

Ranma's brow furrowed in concentration and he paused for a moment before nodding slowly. "If this Destruction guy don't get his act together, everything blows up."

Death laughed lightly, unable to stay serious at the martial artist's succinct summary. "In a nutshell, yes."

"So..." Ranma frowned. "Where do I come into this?"

"Long answer or short?"

"Short," Ranma said, making a face. "I think I did more thinking in the past six hours or so than I did my entire life."

"Well... for reasons known only to himself, Destruction wants you to replace him," Death said, not bothering to hide her smile at his gobsmacked expression. "Yeah, shocking, isn't it?"

"But... but why?" Ranma blurted. His brain's higher thought processes had temporarily shut down, keeping him from coming up with a better question.

"Beats me," Death said, "but he asked for you by name. And from what I've seen of you, he could have chosen worse." She gave him a bright smile.

Ranma, being Ranma, simply grinned in response. The words came without any conscious thought on his part.

"I'm the best."

Death wisely chose not to reply, merely taking a sip from her glass.

At length Ranma spoke again, pointing out a flaw in Death's explanation. "But you told me that if an Endless dies, then another comes to take their place."

"Something like that," the girl acknowledged.

"Then if Destruction is really making the universe go down the drain because he won't get his ass in gear, then couldn't you just... umm..." He shifted uncomfortably. "Kill him?"

"No!" Death exclaimed, looking horrified at the prospect. "He's my brother, Ranma. And besides, I don't kill people. Death and killing are two completely different concepts."

"Oh," said Ranma, mentally hitting himself. It wasn't every day one suggested to a girl that she kill her own little brother. He looked for something to change the subject. "So... say I bite. What's gonna happen?"

Death frowned, saying, "I'm not clear on the specifics either; nothing like this has ever been done before. All I know is that it won't be safe or easy by a long shot, and even if you succeed there's no guarantee that you'll remain _you_, Ranma Saotome. I want you to understand the risks involved in this, and that I'm not forcing you to do anything. You can back out of it at any time, and nobody will hold it against you. It's entirely your choice."

Ranma's eyes narrowed. "If it's my choice, then why keep me in the dark about it up till now?"

"I thought you'd need some time to get used to your death," Death said honestly, having the grace to look embarrassed. "I couldn't figure out a good way to break it to you, and then Del went and forced the issue."

For a moment Ranma was silent, staring at nothing as he turned it over in his head. "So if I say no to this, then I go on to wherever I was normally supposed to go?"

"Yes," Death said, "and it's not Hell, if that's what you're wondering."

"And the whole universe bites the big one a long time from now, but earlier than it was supposed to?"

Death paused before answering the blunt question. "Mhmm."

Frowning, Ranma stared at the pale girl sitting across from him. She met his gaze firmly - a part of him absently noted that what he was doing now would have earned him a swift beating had one of his fiancees been around to see it - and Ranma saw the truth in her eyes. At length, the martial artist said, "Aww, hell." He forced a lopsided grin. "You know I can't refuse something like this. After all, Ranma Saotome never backs down from a challenge."

Death didn't know whether to laugh or to be exasperated at his simple optimism. "But, Ranma-"

"So what do I got to do?" Ranma interrupted, cutting her off. "Let's get this over with before I change my mind or something."

"Ranma-"

"I ain't got all day, Death," the martial artist said impatiently, obviously trying to keep his companion from voicing her concern. "Come on, tell me."

"_I don't know!_" Death nearly shouted, her voice tinged with exasperation and annoyance. Fixing Ranma with a mock glare, she said, "All I can tell you is what Destiny told me: you have to meet each of the Endless to receive a part of what makes us..." She shrugged. "Us."

Ranma blinked. "But I didn't get anything."

"It's bestowed when one of us deems the recipient ready and worthy," Death explained. "Dream and Delirium approved of you, and so did I. Destiny probably will as well, but as for Desire and Despair..." She shrugged, looking vaguely worried. "I honestly don't know."

"So this... _essence_ you're talking about is part of me now?" Ranma asked, looking confused.

Death nodded. "You might experience a few strange feelings and emotions that you wouldn't have normally, but eventually everything will be naturally absorbed by your soul to..." She trailed off, frowning.

"Ranma?"

Ranma wasn't listening. In fact, he wasn't even looking at Death. His blank gaze was fixed on his solar plexus, and before Death could do anything, he started to glow.

---

I don't know how I didn't notice it before.

It's meshed all through myself, woven in my soul like I was born with it.

It ain't ki, and it ain't magic, I've seen both enough to know that much. It's something different, so bright and powerful it makes my own ki look dull. Know how it's like when you look at the sun? Take the sun and tie it into my ki, and that's what I'm looking at. Or at least, trying to look at.

There ain't no words to describe how complex, how _strange_ this stuff is compared to anything I've ever seen or felt before. It ain't some kinda energy, like ki is. I touch a part of it, a gold light moving just below my solar plexus-

The Dreaming is dark and desolate, even more so than it normally is. I find myself staring openly at my brother, his untidy black hair plastered to his bone-white skin by the driving rain. My umbrella's been swept away; I let it go because it's suddenly not important anymore, not important at all compared to the three women - no, _beings_ standing before us. He talks to them, and suddenly their petty taunting is more than I can stand. I speak sharply, and as the Furies leave he turns to look away from me, the faint light in his dark eyes dimming. We exchange meaningless banter, trying futilely to stave off an inevitability that comes much too soon for my liking. I reach out to him.

"Dream?" I say, feeling strangely detached, emotionless. "Give me your hand."

A single pale finger touches my own and-

Someone grabs my shoulder and shakes me hard, and reality slams back into me like a bucket of ice-cold water.

"Ranma!"

---

The light hit his open eyes like a physical blow, making him squint. He reeled back, but the light seemed to follow him and he staggered, disoriented. "Wha-" he started to say, then stopped, confused. The voice wasn't her own. His own.

Death looked into his eyes, both hands firmly gripping his shoulders. "Ranma," she repeated, a hint of worry seeping into her voice. "What happened?"

"Death?" Ranma asked, looking decidedly out of it. "I- You-" He shook his head hard and the mist over his eyes cleared somewhat. "I... I was talking to Dream, except he had black hair, not white. He was talking to three women who weren't really women. Something worse than that. I got mad at them and made them leave, and then told Dream to take my hand..." He trailed off as Death flinched and drew back, shock written across her features. "Death?"

"That was Morpheus," she said softly. "The first Dream."

"But... But I never met him. I thought he was-"

"Dead," Death finished, nodding. "What you saw - what you experienced - was one of my memories. I hadn't expected you to actually be able to access them at all, but you managed to use your ki to connect to them."

"Oh." Ranma scratched his head, feeling like an ass. "I'm sorry for making you remember." The words sounded lame and insincere to his ears, and he winced.

Death waved it off. "I've had time to deal with it. You just surprised me." Seeing that Ranma had gotten his bearings, she touched his arm lightly. "Now you know the danger. You have the potential to lose what makes you who you are, by taking so much of us into yourself. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Ranma looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "I promised, didn't I?" he said, as if that explained everything.

"But-" Death stopped, realizing that he'd had already made up his mind and wasn't likely to change it. She sighed and gave him a little smile. "More and more, I'm seeing what made Destruction pick you."

"I'm the best," Ranma said again, with absolutely no trace of arrogance. "When it counts."

He looked around and the family picture caught his eye. "So which one's Desire?"

"Fourth from the left," Death said automatically, then stopped. "Wait-"

It was too late. Before she could do more than get to her feet, Ranma had impulsively walked over to the photograph hanging on the wall.

"Hey, Desire. I'm Ranma Saotome. Lemme in," he said, and vanished. Death stood up to follow, but frowned as Desire's likeness in the photo started to darken, fading to black.

"I'm sorry, sister," a silky smooth voice said from nowhere, "but I'd like to have a heart-to-heart talk with Ranma alone, if you don't mind. Don't worry, I'm not going to torture him." The voice paused, amusement obvious in the momentary silence before it continued.

"Much."

---

"Welcome to my parlor," a voice said, as Ranma got used to his surroundings. He looked around, taking in his surroundings for a moment. The walls were tinted a deep scarlet, lit dimly by candles placed around the room. The owner of the voice lay on a plush silk futon, a pale androgynous figure who stared back at him with tawny yellow eyes.

"Sit," it said, gesturing to a red loveseat. Ranma did, and opened his mouth to speak.

"So-"

"_So,_" the being interrupted, plucking a lit cigarette from midair. "You're Ranma." It shot him a grin that resembled Nabiki's so much that he found himself reaching for a non-existent wallet.

"I'm sure Death has told you all about me," Desire said, and Ranma blanched. Death had certainly _not_ told him all about Desire, and he had absolutely no idea of what to expect. "But I'll introduce myself anyway.

"I am a being who is the absolute, pure and undistilled manifestation of everything and everyone you desire, have desired in the past, and ever will desire in the future." Its smirk widened as Ranma failed to make sense of the words.

It got up and extended a hand to shake. "In other words, Desire of the Endless."

"Ranma Saotome," the martial artist replied, shaking himself out of his daze and gingerly taking the pale being's hand in his own like he supposed he should.

"Lovely," said Desire, with a smile that stopped far short of its eyes. "Now that we've got those formalities out of the way, I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, and admit that I despised you."

The words were said with no visible change of expression or tone, and Ranma almost missed them. Almost being the key word, unfortunately, and the young martial artist frowned as he caught the meaning. He opened his mouth wide, preparing to stick his foot deep inside, but Desire spoke first.

"Can you imagine how audacious it sounds?" Desire asked, sounding more exasperated than anything. "We're Endless. Immortal by definition, powerful beyond imagining. Even the gods sit beneath us. As I sit here talking to you, I'm _everywhere_. Existing in every aspect of every concept of desire that's taking place." It gestured vaguely with its cigarette. "Even now, sitting with me in my realm, all you can really perceive of me is one facet of what I really am. Your field of perception, the scope of your being is so limited compared to me that it galled me."

Ranma blinked.

"Oh, come now," Desire said, snorting. "Surely you didn't expect _all_ of us to like you instantly? You're finite. Mortal." It said the last like an epithet, not bothering to hide its disdain.

"Hey!" Ranma said, trying to get a word in edgewise. "You don't know nothing about me when you're saying all of that!"

Desire laughed, its mirth cold and razor-sharp. "Don't know anything about you? You're simple, obtuse, an idiot when it comes to anything but fighting. Focused to the point of obsession on martial arts and a cure to your so-called curse, and so trapped by an arbitrary code of honor that I'm willing to bet you were actually _relieved_ when you died, and all those engagements and promises became null.

"I was the driving force of your life. Your desire to become the best, to practice the art - did you catch that, Ranma? _Desire_. I know you better than you know yourself."

Ranma deflated visibly at the brutally honest description. It was true - that was what made it hurt. Desire's words blew straight past the barrier of his ego and embedded themselves in his chest, staying there and burning painfully like embers. He'd never had much in the way of words, and he knew enough to realize that any defense he tried to mount would be ruthlessly cut down.

Desire let him stew in his own juices for a moment before speaking again. "So, taking all of that into consideration, imagine my surprise when I discovered that I could actually tolerate you." The androgyne's voice was full of mock-disgust, but Ranma thought he could detect a hint of grudging respect in its tone.

"But I thought you said-"

"I despised you, yes. Take note of the past tense, my potential sibling," the Endless said carelessly, banishing its cigarette and summoning another. "Like I said before, you have an awful lot of shortcomings, on top of the whole mortality business." It paused a moment, as if pondering what it had said, before shaking its head. "Positively _galling_."

"Still, my older sister seemed very optimistic about you - not that she's _not_ optimistic about most things, but she was insistent that I give you a second chance." Desire shivered suddenly, its eyes briefly losing focus and a frown twisting its perfect features. "Very insistent."

Ranma grinned, his confidence coming back to him in a rush. "So you found I wasn't such a bad guy after all, huh?" The grin turned into a frown as Desire promptly snorted, its expression telling him in no uncertain terms that such was not the case.

"Give me a break, Saotome. I can hear the sound of your ego inflating from here," it said, smirking. "I don't like you, per se - there are a handful of beings in all of existence that I'll admit to liking and you aren't one of them - but I'll tolerate your continued existence, and that's more than I can say for most mortals. Most immortals as well, come to think of it."

Desire fixed him with a flat stare. "The decision to put up with you didn't come easily. It's not in my nature to accept you, and the only reason I actually made an effort at all was because my siblings asked me to. Even then I had to think about it for quite a while; there're only two reasons why I'm suffering this damn-fool plan that Destruction's come up with. The first, more minor reason is because after taking a long, hard look at your life, it seems that perhaps you weren't as stupid, self-centered, close-minded and incredibly egotistic as you first seemed. And the emphasis is on perhaps."

It held up a hand before Ranma could say anything. "Let me finish before you go and open your big mouth. The second, more important reason, is because Destruction picked you for the job." It gave Ranma a moment to digest that piece of information and then continued. "Family bonds between myself and the rest of the Endless have never been quite what I'd call loving - at least, not since that whole business with Morpheus and that blue-skinned girl back then. Still, I liked the big red oaf enough to trust him, and respect his wishes when he said he wanted to be left alone, unlike some other siblings I could name." It let off a short bark of laughter at Ranma's utterly lost look. "I can see I'm confusing you, so I'll sum it up.

"My choices involving you have far less to do with who or what you are, and far more to do with the fact that my estranged sibling, misguided and sometimes delusional though he may be, sees in you something that says you may just have what it takes to become something more than the sum of your parts. That you might possibly be able to transcend the limits of your mold and become..." It stopped, gesturing again with its cigarette. "_Endless_.

"Frankly, I doubt any of this will work. What you're attempting to do has never been done before. Ever. What Morpheus did with the Hall kid was a gamble that was so meticulously planned, so stupidly improbable, so incredibly _lucky_ that it actually worked. What you're going to do is sort of like that, minus the meticulously planned part. It's more like you're mixing a bunch of volatile chemicals together and hoping against hope you get something drinkable."

Ranma gulped hard, the implications of what he was going to try to do hitting him full force for the first time. It humbled him for a moment, before his spirit flared up and he rose to the challenge. A crooked grin found its way onto his face and he looked into Desire's eyes, not flinching against the other's tawny gaze. "Don't have to worry about that. I'm about as lucky as they come."

Desire smirked at him. "Lucky enough to learn a martial art that drove you clinically insane when in prolonged exposure to cats, saddled with multiple binding engagements and cursed to become a girl when you're splashed with cold water?" It watched his grin falter before adding lightly, "Then again, seeing as you managed to come out of all that relatively unscathed and not a quivering mess of nerves, I suppose you might possess a substantial amount of luck, yes."

There was a short silence as Ranma recovered from just over half an hour of having circles verbally danced around him, and Desire took a final drag of its cigarette before carelessly tossing it over its shoulder. It disappeared before it hit the ground.

"You've spent enough time here, Saotome," Desire said, getting up and motioning for Ranma to do the same. "Any more and I'm afraid your overwhelming ego may end up irreversibly tainting my abode."

Ranma blinked. "Hey!"

Desire ignored his protest and disappeared into an adjoining room which Ranma was sure hadn't been there moments before. Ranma glared after it for a moment before throwing his hands up in defeat and following the Endless. Inside the room was a gallery similar to the one he'd seen in Dream's castle. Desire strode past the book bound in chains, past the intricately carved square emerald, past the empty frame where nothing hung, to the hooked ring which took its place second from the right. The androgyne held it in its hand.

"Despair?" it said smoothly, "I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil. Will you talk to me?"

A flat, quiet voice replied, "You know what my answer would be, my twin. What do you want to discuss?"

"Ranma Saotome is standing beside me. I wish for you to allow him passage into your realm."

There was silence for a moment before the voice spoke again. "Ranma. Very well. Will you be coming through as well?"

"I think I'll stay here."

"I see," the voice said, devoid of any real emotion that Ranma could perceive. He shivered, feeling suddenly cold. "Enter, Ranma."

Desire held out the hooked ring, its expression unreadable. Ranma reached for it, hesitated, and drew back his hand to scratch the back of his head.

"Umm," he started, scowled, and made a visible effort to bring his hand down. "I just wanted to thank you for..." He paused, searching for the words. "Giving me the benefit of the doubt."

Desire rolled its eyes before grabbing his hand, forcing it palm up and dropping the ring onto it. "It might have something to do with the fact that if you fail, I'll end up ceasing to exist a few eons earlier than I had intended to. And I _do_ so enjoy living, if you catch my drift."

Before Ranma could say anything in reply, he vanished.

Standing alone, Desire was silent for a moment before shaking its head slightly.

"Still can't understand what he sees in him," it muttered to itself, but it grinned nonetheless. Then Desire walked out, leaving only the heady scent of spring peaches to linger in its gallery.

---

Next chapter: Despair


End file.
